I wasn't young, dumb or stupid. I wasn't the 17 year old girl who got knocked up on prom night. I was the 30 year old woman in a committed relationship who faithfully took her Pill every day at the same time for years. It might have been the time change the week I spent 3000 miles from home. Or it might have just been shit for luck and I'm the 1% the Pill fails. Either way, I ended up pregnant. Only I had no idea.
For months, I noticed a slight weight gain, but thought nothing of it other than my new job, new home, and new schedule taking a toll. Went up a bra size? It happens, especially to busty gals like myself. Skin clearing up? Using a new face wash routine. Fingernails looking long and not breaking? I started using a new polish treatment over the summer-- must have been working. Light periods? Missed a few? Normal for me-- been that way for years. Besides, I took a pregnancy test 4 months ago and it came up negative.
So why the hell did I just find out I'm 20 weeks and 3 days pregnant?
I'm not an overweight girl who "didn't notice." I didn't ignore morning sickness, because I didn't have any. I didn't ignore missed periods because I didn't miss them. I took a test, remember? It came up negative. I was on the Pill.
But I got pregnant. Very pregnant. Been pregnant for 5 friggin' months.
No way we're having a baby. We're not too young, we're not too irresponsible, we just do not want children. We've talked about it, we've made that decision years ago, we know we do not want to become parents. And no, adoption is not an option.
I'm lucky. Lucky as hell. Lucky that I live in a state where second term abortion is legal and accessible. And safe. 21 weeks. 5 days. Two days of mind numbingly painful laminara insertion and one day of D & E.
I don't feel guilty. I don't wonder what could have been. I'm an adult who got into a rotten situation by doing nothing but being responsible. I was on the Pill. I was in a committed relationship. I made the only choice I would ever make.